


Dumb I sound

by maddieaddam



Series: The first "I love you" drabbles [2]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst, Declarations Of Love, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Short One Shot, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-03 22:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10976268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddieaddam/pseuds/maddieaddam
Summary: Dick has no problem with Nixon being embittered, jaded, and finished with both the war and the world parts of World War II, but first he's got to finish his work (or: Dick restores Nix's faith in literally everything, even himself.)





	Dumb I sound

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction inspired by and only intended to represent the roles played in the HBO miniseries Band of Brothers. No disrespect is meant to the real men of Easy Company.
> 
> The prompt for this "first I love you" drabble was: during an argument.

“Don’t you?” Dick asks him after he’s affirmed his unshaken belief in the heroism of what they’re doing here, and of all the boys who lie murdered - _murdered_ , can they think of it any other way at this point? - by ruthless criminals like bad intel, split-second hesitation, weak leadership, improper grenade safety protocol…

… this should all be funny to him by now, like it is to Nixon. Or maybe not funny, because Dick’s got a higher limit to his capacity for gallows humour and always has, but at least full of dramatic irony. _Maybe_ , he thinks, _human error was the real enemy all this time_ , and suddenly it’s not funny to him anymore either. It’s sickening and cruel in a way he can’t stand to face.

That’s his cue to lift his drink back to his lips, but Dick is beside his chair in the blink of an eye to clap a hand over his and still the movement. The ice cubes in his glass tinkle out their own light, careless laugh to fill the silence.

“Nix, every man still in our company has seen at least one of their friends die so quickly, with so little warning, and with so little apparent value to the sacrifice that they’ve wondered why any of us are here. You’re not alone in what you’re feeling right now. I know there’s no way to explain to a grieving mother that her son’s boots didn’t even hit ground before he was lost and make it sound as good to her as storming Berlin or punching Hitler square in the jaw, but -”

“Christ, Dick,” Nix hisses from between clenched teeth, but he can’t quite work out how to continue. While Dick’s description of heroic deeds as civilians must define them is a cruel caricature alongside what he just went through, and what they’ve all been through since landing in Normandy, it’s bitingly accurate. In fact, the juxtaposition is so effective that he feels about two feet fall when he finally sees the point to which Dick is leading him.

“- but it doesn’t matter if they don’t understand how heroic it is for their sons to have gotten in that plane at all when they knew it was possible for their lives to be snuffed out that way,” Dick finishes without any great flourish or even a lift in the volume of his voice. He’s still got that preternatural, stern calm in every part of his being. “Because we can translate it for them. That’s what these letters do.”

Swallowing hard, Nixon sets down his glass, feeling an odd sort of chill across the top of his hand with Dick’s no longer resting there. “I didn’t -” He pinches the bridge of his nose, clears his suddenly tight throat. “I didn’t mean to say -”

“Of course not,” Dick says evenly. “You’re upset, angry, and very drunk. I’d wait for at least one of those conditions to improve before you tackle the letters.”

“You forgot to mention that I’m a bitter, jaded asshole, and that’s a condition that never improves.”

Dick’s mouth quirks slightly at one side, but Nixon can’t tell if what he’s smothered would’ve been a smile or a frown.

“Yes, it does. You just can’t see the difference when it does.”

“And you can?”

“Of course I can. I love you.”

Nixon’s mouth goes dry, but suddenly the last thing he wants is a drink. By the time he’s able to turn his eyes to the place where Dick was just standing, he’s already gone.

So Nixon just picks up his pen and starts to write.


End file.
